In My Memories
by BothWays
Summary: An accident steals Shawn's memories. It's a chance to start over, but is that what Old Shawn would want? AU Rated T for violence in later chapters.
1. To Not Know and Be Known

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any original characters. **

**A/N: This is my first long, Psych ****fan fiction****. It is inspired by a ****challenge issued by Gembomz on PsychFic. I would like to thank Gembomz for the idea, and also encourage anyone who loves Psych fan fiction to check out that site (if you haven't already. I recognize some of the stories as being on both sites). It is pretty amazing. My name on there is BothWays.**

* * *

Shawn stared at himself in the mirror. It was like staring at a stranger. He did not recognize the eyes that met his steady gaze, or the way his brow furrowed in concentrated confusion. His hair—while incredible—was foreign to him. And that nose. _That_ seemed impossible to forget.

But no. He remembered nothing.

"Hey, kid."

Shawn startled, but turned his head slightly to see the man who claimed to be his father out the corner of his eye, coming into what was supposedly Shawn's childhood bedroom.

"How're you doing?" Henry asked.

"Good, good," Shawn lied, looking back into the mirror and offering a smile that reflected back to the man that stood behind him.

The smile did not reach his eyes. That much Shawn _could_ recognize. And so did this Henry guy. The man frowned sympathetically. "The doctor said it could take time to get your memory back."

"Or it could never come back," Shawn replied. Harsher than he intended. Shawn bit his tongue, then added with a faux cocky smile that seemed to come so naturally to him, "But I'm sure it'll come back. Eventually."

"Sure it will." Henry smiled, though it looked uncomfortable, as though it were an expression he did not normally wear. He shifted on his feet and looked at the floor. "So, Gus was thinking we could go out for pizza tonight with Juliet…maybe spark some memories, or…"

"Gus…" Shawn had been introduced to all the people he'd apparently close to; however, he had a hard time recalling what importance they had on his life. "Burton Guster, my best friend, right?"

Henry winced. "Yeah."

"And Juliet," Shawn continued, "she was—is—my girlfriend?"

"She _is_," Henry emphasized.

Shawn liked that. Juliet seemed like a great girl, if a sad, sympathetic but adoring smile said anything.

_"__Hey, Shawn." The young blond woman came into the hospital room with her hands clasped before her, and her shoulders shrugged up like she was trying to make herself as small and convenient as possible, as though she did not want to get in the way. _

_Shawn stared at her. How could such a beautiful girl know his name? _

_"__Hey," he replied politely, because he didn't know what else to say. It felt so strange, people knowing you, but not knowing them back. It felt rude, even if it wasn't his fault._

_"__They said you might not remember who I am," the girl said wistfully. "But I just wondered if…maybe…"_

_Shawn's face burned with embarrassment. He wanted to remember this angel, more than anything, but all he could do was shake his head. "I'm sorry."_

_She blinked, her smile faltering for just the briefest moment; however, her face still glowed and her eyes told a story Shawn wished he could know. "That's okay, Shawn. I'm Juliet. You call me Jules most of the time, though. If that helps. I don't know…"_

_"__That's a beautiful name. Juliet, I mean. Not the nick name I—uh—gave you," Shawn said awkwardly. He grinned._

_A rosy color rushed to Juliet's cheeks. "Thanks, Shawn."_

_"__I hate to ask," Shawn said, but he desperately wanted the answer. "How do I know you."_

_"__It might not mean anything right now," Juliet said quietly, averting her eyes to the floor for a moment, as though she would find the words she wanted to say under the adjustable bed. "But we've known each other for a few years, and recently, we became something more than friends."_

_Shawn licked his lips nervously. "I wish I could remember."_

_"__You will," Juliet assured him quickly. Too quickly, as though trying to assure herself more than him. He didn't mind._

_"__Yeah," he said. _

Shawn blinked back to the present and nodded at his father. "I'm good with pizza." _I like pizza, right?_

It felt strange that he remembered unimportant things, like foods and elementary facts. But he could not remember important life facts. It frustrated him more than he wanted to show. It felt strange enough, all the sympathy and coddling he was getting, without giving further cause.

"Fine," Henry said, "why don't you wash up and I'll call Guster and let him know."

"Yeah," Shawn agreed, nodding. His throat tightened. He hated this strained politeness between him and his 'father'. Even with no memory, he could tell this was all awkward. He wished he could find someone who would give it to him straight, tell him exactly what his status was with all these people before 'the accident'. But no, everyone was walking on eggshells around him.

"So, yeah, okay, I'll go call," Henry said. He gave Shawn's shoulder a hesitant but hearty clap and squeeze before leaving the room.

Shawn puffed out his cheeks and let the air out slowly. He hated all of this. If only it would all go back to normal.

Whatever normal was.

* * *

Juliet waited on the doorstep of her apartment, sitting with her elbows propped on her knees. She was mildly dressed up, with a nice blouse and pearl necklace; however, her comfortable blue jeans and sneakers made the outfit appropriate for a pizza parlor. She so wanted to look nice for Shawn. Just in case he remembered anything.

A small, blue Echo pulled up and the passenger side window rolled down. "Jules! You ready to go?" Gus asked, even though it was obvious. Juliet didn't just sit on her doorstep for the heck of it.

"Yeah," Juliet called, grabbing her purse and trotting to the car. She could have driven herself; however, Gus insisted that he drive her. Ever since Shawn's accident, Gus had made it his unspoken mission to take care of Juliet for his best friend. She thought it was sweet, and did not want to tell him no, even if it did make her feel awkward and dependent sometimes.

"How're you doing?" was Gus' customary question.

"Pretty good," was Juliet's automatic answer.

They rode for ten minutes in silence. It was weird. Juliet had never thought of her friendship with Gus as awkward, but now, with Shawn out of the picture temporarily (though Juliet secretly feared it might be forever), she realized that Shawn had been the middle man. She'd never been friends with Gus. She'd been friends with Shawn _and_ Gus. It was like a two for one deal.

"Have you seen Shawn since he got out of the hospital?" Juliet asked at last, unable to stand the awkward silence between them any longer.

Gus shifted uncomfortably. "No. But I've wanted to. Mr. Spencer said it might not be a good idea to get too close to Shawn until he's ready. I'm actually surprised he agreed to dinner tonight."

"Henry's just worried about Shawn," Juliet said, "He's only trying to do what's best for him."

"But what if it's not?" Gus asked abruptly, almost cutting off the end of Juliet's sentence.

She paused in surprise before answering hesitantly, "Gus. Henry's only doing _his_ best. It's hard on everybody."

"I'm sorry," Gus muttered, glancing at Juliet guiltily. "I know it must be really hard for you. I'm being selfish."

"You're being protective of your best friend," Juliet consoled gently. She understood Gus' frustration. There were so many times she wanted to go to Henry's house and demand to talk some memories into Shawn's head whether he liked it or not. But, really, what good would that do? Nobody knew.

"Here we are," Gus said, pulling into the local pizza parlor. It wasn't anything incredibly special; however, it was quiet and isolated.

Henry's truck was already there, empty.

"I guess Henry and Shawn already got our table," Gus observed.

"I guess so," Juliet agreed needlessly.

They walked in together.

Henry and Shawn had found a comfortable spot in a corner booth. Both stood when Juliet and Gus approached the table.

"Hey, Gus," Shawn said. He grinned and then awkwardly shook Gus' hand. "Good to see you, buddy."

"Yeah, good to see you too, Shawn," Gus said, patting Shawn's arm with his free hand. "How're you feeling?"

"Great, great," Shawn said without thinking about it, even though it was an obvious lie.

"Great," Gus replied.

Shawn turned to Juliet, looked her in the eye, and smiled genuinely. "Juliet. You look lovely tonight."

"Thanks," Juliet breathed, looking down at her hands and playing with her fingers. She looked up again. "You look good too, Shawn."

She knew it was the wrong thing to say, and her stomach ballad up in embarrassment; however, the words could not be unsaid, so she just smiled, hoping everyone would simply forget.

Shawn laughed a brief breath through his nose. But he wasn't laughing at her. He just smiled at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

She liked that.

"Well, should we eat?" Henry asked, getting to business.

They all sat down. Henry across from Shawn, Gus beside Henry, Juliet beside Shawn.

The Shawn Juliet once knew would have pulled her so close they would have been connected at the hip, his arm slung carelessly but affectionately across her shoulders. She would have been able to smell his body spray, and smell the sweet scent of citrus flavored gum on his breath whenever he laughed. He would have pecked a kiss on her cheek occasionally, maybe even on the lips if she was looking up at him at the time.

He would have shown no shame in his affection for her.

But this Shawn, the Shawn that now sat beside her, was different. He kept a conservative distance between them, though his hand lingered near hers on the table, as though he wanted to take it in his. She wished he would.

"I was thinking," Shawn said after they had small talked for twenty minutes or so after ordering their pizzas. He seemed uncomfortable with what he was about to suggest; however, he took a subtle deep breath and let it out, "just give it to me straight. Who am I? What do I do? What do I say?"

Nobody replied when he paused, so he added, "I just…it feels so strange being with people who literally know me better than I know myself, you know?"

Still, no one knew what to say, how to answer.

Shawn laughed, but it was strained, hurt. "Am I that bad?" He continued to chuckle, while he looked at everything in the room except for the three people around him.

"You're wonderful, Shawn," Juliet blurted out suddenly.

Someone had to say something. Shawn was getting the wrong idea when it came to their silence. What they were really thinking was: how do you explain Shawn to Shawn?

Shawn snorted. "Good. Now I know all."

"I'm sorry, Shawn," Juliet said quietly. She put her hand on his and smiled up at him. "It's just, we don't even know where to start. Henry and Gus, they've known you all your life. And me. I've known you for the most amazing six years of _mine_."

"Thanks, Jules," Shawn whispered under his breath so that only she could hear.

She almost cried when he said her name.

Jules. She didn't even know how much she'd missed that name until he said it.

* * *

**_TBC Please read and review._**


	2. Gifts and Abilities

_**A/N: Thank DoeEyedDarling, Madismederovac, and ktlovesbooks for their reviews! And, because I want to be nice and it's the only August 10th of the year, here is the next chapter! **_**_  
_**

* * *

"What am I?" Shawn asked at breakfast.

Henry glared at him in confusion. "What _are_ you?"

"I mean, what do I do for a living?" Shawn clarified patiently. He'd come to understand that his father took things very literally…on purpose. He wanted people to be clear and direct, to lay everything on the table right off. Even if it sometimes meant making them look stupid to get it.

Henry snorted before he could stop himself. "I've been asking myself that same thing for the past 18 years."

When Shawn just stared back at him blankly, Henry cleared his throat and answered without the sarcasm, "You've done a lot of things since you got out of high school. Not even I know all of them; however, most recently, you've been a private detective."

Shawn already knew this. That's how he knew Juliet and that strange man, Carlton Lassiter. There were a few other people from the police department that claimed to know him too, but he hadn't bothered to remember their names. He thought one of them had called himself Woody, and the other had said something about Buzz.

There was also Chief Vick, a very stern but concerned woman he'd only seen once or twice when he first came out of his comma at the hospital. He'd heard Juliet refer to her a couple of times in the few conversations they'd had.

"But you know all that," Henry went on, sounding slightly irritated, though Shawn guessed it was more a defense mechanism. He'd seen the glint of fear in his dad's eye when he first clarified the question. Maybe he thought Shawn was regressing.

"Yeah," Shawn agreed soothingly, "I just thought, maybe, I could go back to work again? I mean, I know I still don't have my memory, but I don't need to remember the past to solve present cases, do I?"

Henry didn't answer, but started cutting up his scrambled eggs with his fork.

"I just feel so useless," Shawn continued, "sitting around here all day. I feel like I should be doing something productive. Actually _do_ something with my life."

Henry's eyes shot up. "What did you say?"

Shawn was hurt by his dad's lack of interest in what he was saying. He started to repeat his entire dialogue, but Henry stopped him. "No, no. I mean, that last part."

"Actually _do_ something with my life?" Shawn asked.

Henry grinned. "I've waited to hear you say that your entire life."

Shawn smiled uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I made you wait this long."

"I think we can get you on a case, if that's what you really want," Henry said. There was a strange hope in his eyes.

"Really?" Shawn asked. He cleared his throat. "I mean, that's great, but how are you so convinced I'll get on a case right away. Doesn't it take time?"

"Not with your track record with the SBPD," Henry aid proudly, stabbing his eggs. "You'll do great."

It felt like there was a catch Shawn was missing out on. "Wasn't there something I was known for? My specialty or something?"

"That's just it, Shawn," Henry laughed, "you get to start over. We can say you lost your ability and you can start using your true talent! It's great!"

"What ability? What talent?" Shawn asked.

It was again with the eggshells. No one had really told him anything about his past life, what he did or how he did it. It was all treated as some sort of hush hush. Like talking about running a marathon in front of a guy who just lost his legs in a terrible accident.

"You've still got it, Shawn," Henry said, "I can tell. The way you see things. I can just tell you still notice _everything._"

Shawn did not see that as abnormal.

"I'll show you," Henry said excitedly. "Get dressed. We're going to the bar."

"The bar? Really?" Shawn asked doubtfully.

"I'll show you, Shawn, it'll be great," Henry insisted. He looked so excited. "It will be a fresh start for you, Shawn. Even when you do get your memory back."

Shawn didn't know if he liked this fresh start.

* * *

They had been sitting at the table for half an hour, Henry glancing around eagerly. Shawn sipped at his beer thoughtfully, watching the strange behavior of this man who called himself his father. He was an…interesting man, he supposed. Very reserved with his emotions and outspoken with his opinions. He could smile with all the happiness in the world one moment and the next give you a subtle glare that made you want to crawl under a rock.

Henry bounced slightly in his chair. "Alright, close your eyes."

"What?" Shawn asked, surprised. Though, he thought, it wasn't a very surprising request given the senior Spencer's behavior the past hour and a half.

"Close your eyes. Do it."

Shawn closed his eyes, if only to make Henry happy.

"How many hats are in the room?"

"How many _hats_ are in the room? Are you serious?"

"Tell me, Shawn."

"How would I know that?"

"You do. Think about."

"But—"

"Tell me."

Shawn's mind sped over the room they were in, recalling every hatted and hatless head. "Eight."

"Very good, Shawn," Henry said. He sounded mildly impressed.

Shawn opened his eyes. "So what was that for?"

Henry leaned forward. "You have a talent, Shawn, for detail. You see things no one else would see and you have a photographic memory. Those two skills make you the perfect detective."

"Okay," Shawn acknowledged slowly. "But what will be my fresh start? Wasn't I a private detective before?"

"Yes," Henry agreed, "but you were lying to the police department. They didn't believe you were hyper observant, so, like an idiot, you told them you were psychic."

"I what?" Shawn smiled doubtfully. "That's stupid. Who would believe that?"

"Anyone who mattered in the SBPD," Henry stated offhandedly. "Carlton Lassiter is—was—the only one who openly didn't believe you."

Shawn hummed at that. He'd only seen the head detective of the SBPD a few times before he was released from the hospital. The tall, gangly man with dark silvery hair had never said more than hello and a customary phrase along the cliche lines "get well soon". He'd always come with Juliet, and stand at the doorway, as though standing watch instead of visiting.

Only one thing made Shawn believe that he and this Lassiter had been friends in his past life: Lassiter seemed to be guarding Shawn. Not Juliet. Almost as though he felt personally responsible for Shawn's safety.

"I assume Detective Lassiter didn't like me much, huh?" Shawn asked. It was a loaded question, though Henry didn't seem to notice.

He laughed. "I've never heard you call Carlton that!" Henry laughed until he nearly couldn't breathe. Man, Shawn thought, this guy's in a good mood.

"What do you mean?" Shawn asked laughing, even though he had no idea what the joke was.

"You and Gus always called him Lassie," Henry explained through his hilarity.

Shawn laughed again, still lost. "Why? That seems disrespectful."

"But that's what you do, Shawn, you don't respect authority. You mock it. You laugh in its face," Henry informed him, a wide grin on his face.

Shawn wasn't laughing anymore. He didn't like that Shawn. That Shawn didn't sound 'wonderful', as Juliet put it.

When Henry saw Shawn's face fall, he sobered immediately. "Listen, Shawn," he said, "It's not like it sounds. You're a good kid. Everything you do is in good spirits, even if it annoys the heck out of people sometimes."

"Like Detective Lassiter?" Shawn asked solemnly.

"Well, yeah, but Lassiter—" Henry hawed.

Shawn wasn't finished. He leaned forward in his chair. "I was a disappointment to you, wasn't I? You had plans and goals for me, and I blew them all aside like they were nothing. Like they meant nothing. And when I became a private detective, a _psychic_ private detective, you wondered where you'd gone wrong."

Henry's mouth worked, but no sound came out. He couldn't find the words to say.

"That's why you're so excited for me to have a fresh start, isn't it? You have a second chance for me to become who you want me to be. Is that right?"

Shawn was not demanding answers. He did not even sound angry. He sounded disappointed…in himself.

Henry didn't like that. "Shawn, kid, listen to me—"

"Did I treat her badly too?" Shawn asked, so quietly, Henry barely heard him.

But the words broke his heart. He shook his head. He had the words for this. "Shawn, you are the best thing that's ever happened to Juliet. She _adores_ you. I hate to use that term, Shawn, because it's not in the vocabulary I'm used to using, but it is the only word I know to describe how Juliet feels about you."

Shawn was staring at his hands, and Henry didn't realize he was crying until he saw a tear drip off his nose.

"How about we head home," Henry suggested.

Shawn nodded his head, stood up, and started for the door, never lifting his head.

Henry put the money on the table under the check and followed his son out the door.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Shawn, I didn't mean it the way I said it," Henry said for the hundredth time.

"Please…Dad…you don't have to apologize. Really." Shawn looked up from the book he was reading and smiled forlornly. "I wanted honesty and you gave it to me. It's what I wanted."

"But you are a good man, Shawn," Henry insisted. "I don't want you to start over. I want you to be who you were."

"_I_ want to start over," Shawn said, "I want to be someone people can respect because I am respectful. I want to be honest and trustworthy and dependable and—"

_Wonderful_, like Juliet said.

Shawn closed his book. "From what I've pieced together about my history, it's someone I wish I never was. I want to recreate myself, Dad. I have a second chance."

"Don't say that, Shawn," Henry pleaded.

Shawn had never heard that tone before from the man sitting across from him, and he guessed that Henry was not accustomed to using it. Henry cleared his throat and added more forcefully, "You have a lot of friends and family that want you back, Shawn, the way you were."

Shawn decided to change the subject. "I want to go to the police station tomorrow and meet Detective Lassiter…again, I guess, if you'll drive me down."

"Sure," Henry said.

"I'm gonna go to bed. I'm exhausted. Counting hats can really take a lot out of a guy." Shawn smiled.

Henry sighed, but grinned halfheartedly. "Yeah. I guess it can."

"G'night," Shawn said.

"Night."

After Shawn was gone, Henry dropped his head into his hands and wondered what on earth he had done.

* * *

**_TBC _**


	3. Resuming and Starting Over

_**A/N: Chapter three is here! Chapter four coming soon! **_**_  
_**

* * *

Juliet didn't talk about Shawn much when she was around Lassiter. She mentioned a couple times that it felt so strange, Shawn not remembering anything; however, for the most part, Lassiter didn't ask, and Juliet didn't tell.

But Lassiter did wonder. A lot. It kept him awake at night, when his mind was free to wander away from him. After all. It was his fault. All of this was because of him. If only he hadn't told Spencer to bug off, Shawn would not have tried to save the suspect on his own. He would not have fallen off a ten foot up balcony and Bella Morgan might still be alive.

Bella Morgan. The grisly murder scene they arrived at after receiving a vague but frantic all caps text from Shawn made even Lassiter's stomach turn. And what was worse, they were pretty sure Shawn had witnessed it. The doctors thought that Shawn's brain had not 'lost' his memory, but blocked it, as a psychological defense mechanism.

When his memory came back to him, if ever, it might be traumatic.

Lassiter was sitting as his desk when voices of surprise and joy sounded across the office. Everyone was standing up and rushing to the check-in desk, leaving Lassiter behind without a word of explanation. He craned his neck in an effort to see better; however, the crowd was too thick to see through.

Curiosity got the best of him, and Lassiter went to investigate.

"How're you feeling, Shawn?" someone asked.

Lassiter stopped short of approaching the crowd. Shawn. Of course it was Shawn.

"I'm doing pretty well, thanks," Shawn's voice replied honestly, though sounding slightly perturbed at all the attention he was receiving.

"I was actually down here to see Detective Lassiter," Shawn continued. He sounded like a random citizen off the street who had never stepped foot in the station before. And in a sense, Lassiter realized, that's what he was.

"Who?" someone teased, but all eyes turned on Lassiter, who—while he loved being the center of attention in _some_ (okay, most) situations—felt very uncomfortable. For the first time ever, he truly wished he'd called in sick…even if he wasn't sick. Didn't everyone abuse sick days once in a while?

The crowd shifted to allow Shawn to see Lassiter, and Lassiter to see Shawn. It was strange. Shawn looked the same, and yet entirely different. It was the seriousness in his eyes. All jocularity was gone. Somehow, it didn't look like the words, "Hey, Lassie-face!" could come out of this man's mouth.

"Detective," Shawn said, walking forward with his hand held out, "Good to see you again."

"Uh," Lassiter didn't know what to say. He awkwardly shook Shawn's hand, and then cleared his throat. "Spencer, good to see you're on your feet again."

"Thank you," Shawn replied, a smile Lassiter had only seen a few times on his lips. It was a sincere, just polite, happy smile. Shawn got down to business. "I'm actually hoping to offer my services as a consultant again."

"Ah," Lassiter said. He had to ask. "How are your psychic abilities since the accident?"

It felt cruel, trying to catch Shawn off guard in his state, get him to admit to everything. However, Shawn just smiled and shook his head. "I lost them. Haven't had any visions since I gained consciousness. If Chief Vick'll have me, I'll be using good, old fashioned observation skills." He heaved his shoulders in a humble shrug. "I guess I've got a knack."

_So that's how he's always done it_, Lassiter thought, though he should not have been surprised. Obviously, he was never psychic…but his skills, even Lassiter had to admit, seemed paranormal on the surface.

"Well…" Lassiter said. He realized that his and Shawn's relationship had always been built on insults, jabs, and competition. There had been a mutual respect that both refused to acknowledge but knew was there.

This was like meeting a colleague for the first time. Lassiter was coming so close to letting the words, "It's nice meeting you, Mr. Spencer. I look forward to working with you," slip from his lips.

He cleared his throat again. "I'm sure the Chief will be more than happy to talk to you about consulting on a case if one comes up."

"I appreciate your confidence," Shawn replied properly, the smile never leaving his face.

Lassiter realized what his smile was missing: the cocky, immature, lopsided tilt. That mirth that always seemed like it was about to make a fool of everyone in proximity. That was gone. In its place was something Lassiter kind of liked. Shawn was naturally a happy person. He did not brood or overthink anything. The old Shawn always channeled that happiness in bizarre and often annoying as heck ways.

This Shawn…this Shawn was good. He was mature and realistically optimistic. You could see the sparkle of self confidence in his eyes, but it did not radiate from his entire being like the old Shawn. He was controlled.

"Well," Shawn said, "I'd better go talk to Chief Vick."

When Lassiter hesitated to reply, Shawn added generously, "You're more than welcome to join me. Your feedback would be welcome."

"Alright," was all Lassiter could say.

Was it horrible to say he hoped the old Shawn never came back?

* * *

"I understand I have a criminal record," Shawn said, "so I am not able to work for the SBPD; however, I would like to reintroduce my services as a consultant. I seem to have lost my psychic ability which assisted my earlier investigations; however, I hope that you will be satisfied with my natural skills as an observer."

Chief Vick was trying to act very professional, as though discussing a business proposition—which, of course, she was; however, this was a _man_ in Shawn's body. It was a little creepy, if she wanted to admit it.

"Of course, Mr. Spencer, I'm sure your insight on cases would be invaluable if you think you can work without your previous methods."

Lassiter spoke up. "I believe he can, Chief. That's my personal opinion."

_Well if even Lassiter wants him hired on…_ Vick opened a file on her desk. "It's a small case; however, I believe it will suffice as a trial to decide if you can preform just as well as before, even without your psychic abilities."

She pushed the file across the desk and watched as Shawn turned it around and read over it briefly, sifting through the papers. "It was the husband. He's having an affair with his agent."

"Mr. Spencer, how on earth—"

"It's simple really," Shawn interrupted. He rambled off facts and reasons and everything he said made strange sense.

The Chief grabbed the file and read over it. "That is amazing, Mr. Spencer. I've never seen anything like it. Are you sure you're not…"

"Psychic?" Shawn asked. He laughed. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. It's all right there." He pointed at the file. "No spirits, no visions."

"You're hired, Mr. Spencer."

* * *

Shawn was happy. His relationship with his father was great. Juliet and he were getting 'reconnected', and the process was going amazingly well.

He and Lassiter were becoming friends outside the job. The guy was indeed high-strung, but get him in the right spirits and he was a pretty nice guy to hang out with.

The Chief loved him because he could solve any case put to him, without the crazy antics of the old Shawn.

But then there was Gus. That was the relationship Shawn could not seem to recover. It was just so awkward between them. They had nothing in common, and Gus was always suggesting they watch a marathon of some TV show or movies from a certain decade. Shawn was told he liked that sort of thing, but his new self couldn't stand it.

He preferred to discuss cases with Lassiter on a fishing trip than go get pizza and a smoothie with Gus. For some reason, Gus was obsessed with pineapple smoothies, and was always bringing Shawn one at random times of the day.

Such an incident occurred about two months after Shawn had been officially rehired as a SBPD consultant. Gus came bursting into the Psych office, which Shawn had kept as his office, though he really wanted to take the name off the front window. His dad told him he might want to wait a few months in case he changed his mind (in other words, in case his memory returned).

"Hey, Shawn, I got you a pineapple smoothie," Gus said, coming into the kitchenette and setting the said smoothie on the table. Shawn was in the middle of his lunch, and smiled up at his former best friend politely.

"Thanks, Gus, I appreciate it. But you really don't have to get me smoothies all the time," he said, though he took the smoothie and gave it a sip, just to please Gus.

"It's no bother, Shawn, really," Gus insisted, sitting down. "Alfred Hitchcock's the Birds is playing at the theater tonight. It's a one night only event. You want to come? I already bought the tickets."

Shawn hissed through his teeth disappointedly. "Ah. I'm sorry. Juliet and I have a date tonight."

"Oh," was all Gus said.

"I'm really sorry, man," Shawn apologized guiltily. He really wanted to be friends with Gus, the way everyone said they were before; however, childhood friendships needed a memory of the childhood. And Shawn had none of that.

"It's cool," Gus said. His expression said otherwise.

Shawn shook his head. "No. Let's do it. I'll call Juliet and ask to reschedule our date. I'm sure she'll understand."

"You'd do that for me?" Gus asked, a joyous smile spreading over his countenance.

"Yeah," Shawn said, assuming an awkwardly lopsided grin. He'd been looking through photos on his phone of selfies he'd taken of himself before the accident. He used to smile like this a lot, apparently.

"Thanks, Shawn, this means a lot to me. We used to go to old movies all the time before, you know—" Gus didn't finish the sentence because the conclusion was obvious.

"I wish I could remember," Shawn sighed, though he didn't entirely mean it. After all, his life seemed to be doing very well the way he was now.

"You will, someday," Gus assured him eagerly.

Shawn shrugged his shoulders. "Someday."

What Shawn didn't know is that it would be someday soon.

* * *

Juliet picked up her cell phone and saw Shawn's name and photo across the screen. "Hey, Shawn!" she answered happily.

"Hey, sweet heart," Shawn replied.

"I'm looking forward to tonight," Juliet said. She was at work, typing up reports. She didn't mind the distraction. Especially if it was Shawn distracting her.

"That's actually what I was calling about," Shawn said hesitantly.

"Oh." Juliet's heart sank. She'd been looking forward to this date all day.

"Gus asked me to go with him to a movie tonight," Shawn went on, his voice reflecting a disappointment Juliet rarely heard…at least, she rarely heard it before the accident. New Shawn was more prone to express his true emotions, especially when it came to making those he cared about upset. "He said it's a one night event, and he already bought the tickets. I felt bad telling him no because of how everything's been going—"

Juliet entirely understood. She'd worried about Gus and the disbanded friendship ever since Shawn's accident. Shawn had rehabilitated with everyone, even greatly improved himself, except for his best friend.

"That's okay, Shawn, I understand. Gus needs this. Have fun, and don't worry about me. I'll call a girlfriend of mine and see if we can't go shopping or something."

"Really? Thanks, Jules, you're amazing. Don't forget that, sweet heart."

"I can't," Juliet teased, "you keep reminding me."

"Only because I can't keep it to myself. Love you."

"Love you, too."

The line disconnected, and Juliet put her phone back on her desk and sighed. Was it possible she was even more in love with this new Shawn?

Shawn and Gus came out of the theater at half past eleven amongst the crowd of dispersing moviegoers. Gus was rattling off "the Birds" trivia he'd read on an Alfred Hitchcock fan site, while Shawn listened with interest. All of it was new to him, even though past Shawn could have topped Gus' every reveal.

"Listen, Gus," Shawn said as they approached the Blueberry, interrupting Gus' monologue of facts. Even though Shawn was truly impressed with Gus' awesome trivia, he knew Gus was just rambling because they didn't have anything else to say.

Shawn cleared his throat and began again. "Listen, Gus. I know that things have been anything but the same between us since the accident."

"Yeah," Gus said slowly, the unspoken words clear in his tone: _Isn't that obvious?_

"Well, because I don't remember what our friendship was before, I can't make it what it was before…I've watched those YouTube videos we posted a year ago that my dad showed me, and it kind of scares me," Shawn admitted.

Gus laughed. "Hey, they scare me too."

Shawn released a relieved chuckle. "Good. I didn't want to offend you, but that was the honest truth."

Gus just grinned and waited for Shawn to get to his point.

"So anyway, I was thinking, since I'm not who I was, thereby making us not what we were," Shawn continued after a measured moment of silence, "what if we just start over? Like Detective Lassiter and I did? I mean, before we were—I don't know—not friends, and now we are shocking the world with our capacity to be in the same room together for ten plus minutes without a sarcastic comment. At least, that's what Juliet says, and a few other people…most people. I don't know."

Now Shawn was rambling. He stopped before he said anything entirely idiotic; however, Gus was smiling so wide, Shawn wondered if it hurt.

"Shawn," he said, shaking his head, "I've never heard you sound more like your old self than just now."

Shawn blinked. "Really?"

"I'm sorry if I've been trying to recreate our friendship the way it was," Gus went on. He leaned against his precious company car, which, Shawn had learned by now, was a big deal. Gus treated that little car like flesh and blood. "And I think you're right. We need to just start over. Act like we've never met before in our lives, even though we actually met when we were in like first grade."

"I appreciate that, Gus."

Gus just nodded, and then smirked. "You used to _love_ pineapples."

"What?" Shawn was confused. He had noticed an obsessive amount of pineapple memorabilia around the Psych office; however, he'd blamed it on Gus.

"It's true. You used to call it the 'goddess of all fruit'."

* * *

_**TBC Please read and review! **_


	4. Case Files and Memories

_**WARNING: This chapter contains what I would consider "graphic violence". A murder is witnessed (and recapped in the next chapter) by Shawn. **_

* * *

Shawn was working late in the Psych office. He was staring exhaustedly at the computer screen, typing searches into google for research. He'd been at this new life for almost a year, openly being a simply great detective. No psychic visions, no foolish nonsense. It felt good, even if he didn't know how it felt before.

His cell phone rang. Absently, he picked it up. "Hello, Shawn Spencer."

"Hey, sweet heart," Juliet replied, her voice groggy. "Gus just sent me a text and said you were still at the Psych office when he left at almost midnight. Are you still there?"

"Yeah," Shawn admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly, "I'm working on a case."

"Don't you think you've been working a little too hard lately? I mean, we haven't gone on a date where we didn't discuss a case in weeks."

Shawn sighed and massaged his hairline with his fingers. "I know, sweetie. It's just, this case. It's been a tough one, you know?"

"Yeah, well," Juliet voice dropped an octave. "You need to give yourself a break. You're going to get burned out."

"I'm fine," Shawn insisted, sitting up. He didn't like it when people told him what he needed to be doing. It was something that had been bothering him more and more lately.

"No, you're not, Shawn, listen to me. You're starting to become your dad: obsessed with your work."

Shawn snorted. He admired his dad. A lot. And he didn't care if he admitted it. Frankly, he was proud if he was becoming something more than what he had been before the accident. "I don't see that as a problem. Taking my work seriously is—"

"Great!" Juliet finished for him; however, her voice was angry. "But you can't become a workaholic, Shawn. That's not taking your work seriously. That's letting your work _take_ you."

"I'm not a workaholic," Shawn shot back, defensive.

"No? Then why are you still at the Psych office at twelve thirty at night for the fifth night in a row? What time do you get there? What do you _do_ all day. What are you becoming, Shawn?"

"What do you want me to become?" Shawn shouted, standing up and gesturing for emphasis. "I can't make everyone happy! I had to start over from nothing, Juliet. Nothing! I had to recreate myself based on what everyone wants me to be, but I can't be everything. Alright?" Shawn's voice dropped painfully to a barely audible whisper. "I can't be everything."

"Oh, Shawn," Juliet sighed gently, "We just want _you_."

Shawn paused, breathing heavily. He couldn't cry. He could not cry. "I am," he said at last. "I am me."

"I'll let you get back to the case, Shawn," Juliet said, and she was gone.

Shawn pulled his phone away from his ear and just stared at it, staring at the reflection of himself in the glass screen. He frowned at himself bitterly, and before he could stop himself, hurled the phone across the room. To his surprise, he was disappointed when it landed unscathed on the couch.

Shawn sat back down heavily and dropped his head into his hands. He tried to regain his composure, taking deep, solid breaths. "You are who you are, Shawn," he told himself, "You are who you want to be. You got a second chance. Don't blow it, Shawn. Don't blow it."

He erased the search he had been putting into google, and put in new keywords: Shawn Spencer. He'd avoided this search—he'd avoided this question—for almost a year. He wanted to know what Shawn Spencer had been, he wanted to know how Shawn Spencer should be, but he never asked what had happened or why. The ominous accident had been left at that. No details. No reasons.

He'd liked it that way.

But now, he needed to know.

He scrolled past the recent stories of his success, of his recent cases and interviews. He got all the way to page three before he found the headline he was looking for: Shawn Spencer in Coma after Case Gone Wrong.

He clicked on the link.

There was a picture of him on a crime scene. It was cropped and zoomed in, so that the picture only had him in it. He was looking past the camera, his eyes on something behind the photographer.

***_Shawn Spencer, Psychic consultant of the SBPD, is in a comma after falling from a second story building while investigating a case. Chief Karen Vick says that he was investigating on his own time, and not under the authority of the SBPD when the accident occurred. _

_Bella Morgan (pictured below) was also found dead on the scene. She had gone to the police after her husband disappeared three weeks before. Spencer is not suspected of having been involved in Morgan's death; however, he may be a witness.***_

Shawn scrolled down to the picture of Bella Morgan. It was also a cropped picture, and the way she was positioned suggested she was standing with someone, possibly her husband, Shawn thought. Bella had dark brown hair, light colored skin, and large brown eyes. She looked pretty; however, there was something off about her, Shawn thought. It was her makeup. Dark and bold. Too dark for her skin tone. It made her look…scary.

Shawn's stomach twisted.

_Doesn't she look a little scary to you, Lassie-face? I don't trust a woman who doesn't even _try_ to tan in California._

_Unless you have something remotely helpful to say, Spencer, don't talk to me._

Shawn shoved back from his desk and grabbed his keys from the hook beside the door as he went out. He needed to find the Bella Morgan files.

* * *

Shawn sat down at Lassiter's desk, the Morgan file in front of him. He did not want to say he was afraid to open it, but that was the truth. If the picture of Bella had triggered a memory, what would reading over the case file do? Would he regain all his memories? And if so, did he want them?

He looked around the dark office he'd "broken" into. There was no one here, except for the janitor mopping out the bathrooms. There was Juliet's desk, and the chief's office, and the bench where he and Gus would wait when they were going to be assigned a case. For the most part, Shawn thought he had it pretty good. Sure, he wished he had a memory that went further than a year ago, but if he had learned anything from old Facebook posts, texts, and selfies on his phone along with stories his friends and father let slip once in a while, new Shawn was the bigger man.

But what would the old Shawn want? What was old Shawn like inside himself? Sure, people thought they knew him before, but does anybody really know anybody? What memories did old Shawn have that would have influenced the future for the better? What if his lost memories meant lost opportunities?

"Who do I want to be?" Shawn whispered. He touched the folder with his fingertips and let them slowly slide down to the bottom corner. He opened the file.

He braced himself for memories to suddenly flood into him; however, he knew that was ridiculous, and the first page was nothing but small print paperwork. Even Shawn's acute eyesight could not make it out without leaning over it.

Shawn clicked on Lassiter's desk lamp and leaned over the file. He sifted through the papers, briefly reading over the basics of the case.

Bella Morgan, age thirty-five, came into the police station two weeks after her husband disappeared. When asked why she did not report it earlier, she replied that her husband left without warning regularly; however, this time, she knew it was not a normal leaving without a word incident.

She did not suspect any foul play; however, she was worried that he might have been in an accident, maybe a John Doe in a hospital someplace.

The investigation suggested otherwise, and Shawn was soon asked to consult on the case.

Shawn read over his part in the case carefully. He was called in, and 'psychically' discovered that Mr. Morgan had been having an affair, and that it was his lover, Heather Lawrence, he'd been going to see during his unexplained absences. A little psychic researched proved this fact, and soon Ms. Lawrence was being sought after, and found dead in her apartment, stabbed to death.

DNA found in the wounds that did not belong to the victim said that the murderer was a woman, more specifically, Bella Morgan, who had disappeared from her home as soon it was discovered that her husband was cheating on her.

Two nights after she disappeared, she was found dead in her home, brutally murdered with an unconscious Shawn Spencer on the scene. There are no clues as to who the murderer might be, though Mr. Morgan is wanted for questioning, if still living.

Shawn turned over the last page and looked at the photographs of the Bella Morgan murder scene.

"_Why did you do it, Bella?"_

_"__I didn't kill that woman."_

_"__Your hair was found in her wounds."_

_"__It was planted, Shawn. You have to believe me."_

_"__Why did you disappear?"_

_"__I was searching for Donny. I thought I could find him. I promise, I did not kill that woman. Why would I let her _completely_ ruin my life? She took my husband, why would I let her take my life too?"_

Shawn looked at the first picture, of blood splattered across the sliding glass door that led out to a balcony. The next was of blood on the ceiling, and then blood on the walls. He felt his stomach tighten, and some of it climbed up into his throat. He swallowed it back. He could not throw up on Lassiter's desk.

The next picture was a body, but you could barely tell. The face was turned away from the picture, and the dark hair was matted with blood.

_"__Shawn, someone's in here," Bella whispered._

_The hair on the back of Shawn's neck raised, and his skin crawled. "We have to get out…now." He caught Bella's wrist as he ran by her, and pulled her toward the door. _

_She was whimpering, "Shawn, it's him. I know it's him."_

Shawn closed his eyes, the memory of that night becoming clearer and clearer. Bella and he had tried to get out the front door, but Don Morgan had beat them to it. He was holding a gun in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. He backed them into the front room again.

_"__No, Donny, please, don't do this," Bella pleaded._

_Shawn stepped in front of her. "You don't have to do this, Don. Let's think about this."_

_"__She killed the only woman I ever loved!" Don screamed. He swung the bat at Shawn, but Shawn dropped to the floor and shielded his head with his arms. Shawn heard the bat make contact with something. _

_"__Bella!" he cried, lifting his head. _

_The woman was sprawled across the couch, blood seeping into her hair. Shawn choked on a sob. "No, no!"_

_Don was lifting the bat to strike Bella again, but Shawn stood and stopped him. "No, Don, stop!"_

_Don's eyes shifted from Bella to Shawn, and a crazed smile curled his lips. "You love her. You love Bella. You're trying to protect her."_

_"__No," Shawn said, "No, I'm trying to help _you_. Please, let me help you not make a huge mistake. Let me help!"_

_Don Morgan was aiming his gun carefully at Shawn's head. "Stay back. She deserves this. She is a murderer."_

_"__You'll be a murderer too if you kill her," Shawn reasoned, "and if you kill me…"_

_"__I won't kill you unless you get in my way."_

_Shawn pulled out his phone and started to text Lassiter. Don stared at him. "What are you doing?"_

HE'S KILLING HER COME TO MORGAN HOUSE

_Shawn clicked send just before the bat came down on his hand and knocked the phone from his grip._

_"__What did you do?" Don demanded. _

_"__I'm saving your wife," Shawn said. _

_Don smiled. "She's already dead."_

_Shawn shook his head. "You don't know that. It's not too late."_

_"__Oh, you want me to be sure?" Don asked. He lowered the gun and shot Bella three times in the head. _

_Shawn's entire body quaked, and his knees folded under him, and he was sitting in the chair, his head in his hands, sobbing. "You killed her! You killed her!"_

* * *

_**TBC**_

_**A/N: Good news and bad news...Bad news? I'm almost out of prewritten material. Good news? I have an ending in mind! However, I would appreciate some feedback and suggestions. **_


	5. Grow and Shrink

_**A/N: I **_**_would like to thank all my reviewers and followers for their support on this story. This is definitely a new venture of me, and you guys are awesome. 'The Things That Define You' made a suggestion that I actually would really like to use. It is not in this chapter, but I am going to try to fit it in coming up!_**

**_This chapter might seem like a sudden jump from no memories to memories and hurt/comfort, but-wait for iiit!-I think I have a plan :D _**

**_Read, enjoy, and review! _**

**_WARNING: I am not a psychologist. I am not a doctor. I just watch a bit of Psych and Bones. So, I tried to take a few cues from Shawn's mother and -fine, yes- Sweets. I know that there are mixed feelings on that guy, but I think he's a good character for the mix they've got going. But we're not talking about Bones. . . this is Psych. Anyhoo . . ._**

* * *

The sound was strangely familiar. A strange, rhythmic beeping.

Shawn opened his eyes.

"He's awake!"

"Shawn, can you hear me?"

Shawn turned his head and saw his dad and Juliet sitting beside him. Juliet was sitting closest, holding his hand tightly in hers. She smiled at him. "How're you feeling, sweetie?"

"I don't know," Shawn admitted groggily. He blinked. "Where am I?"

"You in the hospital," Henry informed him, "do you remember what happened?"

Shawn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I was in the police department looking at old case files…"

"Bella Morgan's case files," Henry clarified. "Why were you looking at those?"

"Because I remembered something," Shawn said. "I remembered something I said to Lassie—Lassiter before she was killed."

"What do you remember?" Juliet asked eagerly. Her nails bit into his hand in her excitement, but Shawn did not want to tell her it hurt.

"Don Morgan killed her," Shawn whispered. The memories washed over him once again, and he felt his throat constrict. They felt so recent, so clear and vivid, as though they had only happened the night before, not a year ago—not this long, wonderful year ago.

"Don Morgan?" Juliet asked, "He was missing. Why haven't we been able to find him since Bella Morgan reported him missing."

"He hit her with a baseball bat," Shawn continued, as though Juliet hadn't spoken, his eyes focused on nothing, "and then shot her three times in the head." He shifted his gaze and looked at his dad. "I tried to stop him, Dad, but I couldn't. He swung at me, and hit her instead."

Henry was aghast. "Do you remember everything, Shawn?"

Shawn swallowed. "I should never have opened that file. I should never have googled the accident. I should have left everything alone. My life was good, you know?"

"Shawn," Juliet sighed.

"I don't want to remember. I wanted to start over. I was happy!" Shawn looked at Henry. "You were happy. You were _proud_ of me. And you," his eyes went to Juliet, "and you were happy. You were happier than you've ever been, right?"

Juliet shook her head. "You were a different person, Shawn. I couldn't love you like I used to. I had to get to know you all over again."

"Shawn, I've always been proud of you," Henry put in quietly, almost as though he did not want to be heard. He cleared his throat. "You did not have to start over to make me proud or happy."

"But you were!" Shawn insisted, "You were both happier. I was a better person, wasn't I? For everyone?"

"What about you?" Juliet asked.

Shawn clenched his fists before he realized he was still holding Juliet's hand. She gasped and pulled her hand away. Shawn frowned. "I'm sorry."

"You're just upset," Juliet soothed, "This is a huge step. Going from remembering nothing to remembering everything _and_ a horrific murder overnight, that's a lot."

"Why did I look at that file?" Shawn asked again, "Why did I have to do that?"

"Maybe you wanted yourself back?" Juliet suggested. "You've been living this past year for everyone else. Maybe you just wanted to be _you_."

Shawn had never wanted to be anyone else more.

* * *

"Are you ready to give your statement, Mr. Spencer," Chief Vick asked.

Shawn was sitting in the police department in the chief's office, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes staring down at them. He could feel five pairs of eyes staring at him, waiting for the unfinished story.

Shawn cleared his throat. "Um. I went to Bella Morgan's house the night of her murder because I thought she might be guilty of killing Heather Lawrence." He cleared his throat again. "She denied it, of course, and at first I believed her, until Don Morgan came. She knew someone was in the house, and she knew who it was, even though she didn't tell me right away. Actually, she never told me. She just said, 'it's him, I know it's him,'. She sounded scared, even though she claimed she had gone to look for her husband, and that's why she had been missing those past few days.

"I tried to talk him out of killing her, but he did not want to be reasoned with. He was crazed with anger. He swung at me with the baseball bat in his hand; however, I ducked and he ended up hitting Bella in the head instead. I think he must have been aiming for her the whole time." Shawn took a shaky deep breath. "When I saw her, I texted Lassiter. Don got mad at me and hit the phone out of my hand right after I sent the message. I tried to convince him to stop and think about what he was doing. To help me save his wife.

"He said she was already dead," Shawn continued, his voice breaking, "and when I said he didn't know that for sure, he shot her in the head three times. Blood was everywhere. I-I didn't know what to do. I guess I went into shock or something, because what happened next is really hard to remember. I think I went out to the porch and he followed me? I can't remember that…very well. It's—I can't. I'm sorry."

Shawn never looked up until now, at his heartfelt apology.

"Thank you, Mr. Spencer, your testimony will definitely put Don Morgan at least in prison for life," Chief Vick said. "Would you mind repeating it before a judge and jury?"

Shawn shook his head and let his eyes avert back to his hands.

Lassiter spoke up. "You said that you believed Bella Morgan did not kill Heather Lawrence until her husband came. What does that mean? That Bella did kill Heather?"

"Why," Shawn asked slowly, "would you be afraid of someone you disappeared for days trying to find? And why would you lie about that to someone who was trying to help you?"

"That doesn't prove anything," Lassiter pointed out.

Shawn shrugged. "We have DNA evidence, and we don't have a solid alibi. What more do you need? And besides. We can't try a dead woman for murder."

* * *

It felt strange. Two people vying for one brain. There was old Shawn and new Shawn, old way of life and new way of life, old relationships and new relationships. And even though Shawn had all his memories back, he felt like he had started over _again_. Again, everyone was on egg shells around him, as though they were waiting to see which Shawn would prevail.

The doctor suggested therapy, which both old and new Shawn did not like. Neither one of them wanted some quack asking for their deepest, darkest secrets. That's where blackmail becomes a problem.

"What do you have to hide, Shawn?" Henry asked irritably, though Shawn knew he wasn't angry. It was worry and concern that drove him to harshness.

"I don't have anything _to hide_," Shawn said, "it's just I don't have anything to tell."

"I think you should go, Shawn," Juliet said.

They were sitting in Henry's living room, Shawn and Juliet on the couch, Henry in his chair. It felt strange in here to Shawn. For the past year, he and his father had gotten along great in this room. They watched TV together and had deep, _real_ discussions. However, with his old memories back, Shawn now saw this as the room where he and his father had fought and bickered and parted ways multiple times, agreeing bitterly to disagree.

"I don't know," Shawn said. He wound a strand of Juliet's hair around his finger.

"One session," Juliet said, "just try one session, and if you are positive it won't help you, you can quit."

Shawn sighed. "One session," he agreed.

* * *

Shawn felt uncomfortable.

Not literally. The leather chair he was sitting was incredible, both Shawns had to admit, though it was Old Shawn that wished there was a way he could get a chair like this for himself—perhaps even this chair? New Shawn ignored his alter ego and shifted awkwardly as Dr. Hudson came into the room.

"Good afternoon, Shawn," Dr. Hudson said cheerfully, sitting down across from Shawn and open the file he'd had tucked nonchalantly under his arm. "I'm Dr. Timothy Hudson."

"That's what your sign said outside," Shawn pointed out.

Dr. Hudson arched an eyebrow, but did not lift his eyes from the file nor comment on the snide remark. "It seems you've had a busy year, Shawn."

"It would seem so," Shawn agreed with a slight irritability that Old Shawn cringed at.

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

Shawn leaned forward, clasping his hands. "Let me be honest with you, doc. I don't want to be here. I'm here, because everyone wants me here. I'm here for one session to make them happy. I'm not here to have my emotions dissected."

"I'm glad to have that cleared up, Shawn, because you seemed a little…agitated. And now I know why." Dr. Hudson scribbled a note in Shawn's file. He looked up. "It must be difficult, making and keeping people happy, huh?"

Shawn snorted and looked briskly away. He knew what the doctor was trying to do.

"You could recreate yourself, meet everyone you cared about's expectations," the doctor went on, as though he did not need or expect Shawn to answer. "Your father—he could be proud of you. Your girlfriend—she could respect you. Your best friend—he could depend on you. Your colleagues—they could admire you. But once you're through with all that, what do you have, Shawn? What do you have after giving away so much of yourself?"

"Nothing," Shawn muttered bitterly.

"Nothing, Shawn? What does that mean?" Dr. Hudson inquired. "Didn't you have the pride of your father, the respect of the love of your life, the mutual dependance of a best friend, the respect of those you worked with…do those things count as nothing?"

"They weren't real," Shawn explained impatiently, sitting up. "Don't you get it? None of that was real! Everyone remembered me as I was, and I—I didn't. I tried to become what I thought they wanted me to be, but that wasn't who I was before. So it wasn't real."

"You're real, Shawn. This past year has been real."

"But not me," Shawn hissed, jabbing a finger accusingly into his own chest. "I don't want this. If I had to change, I didn't want to know. I didn't want to remember."

"Then why did you look at the Morgan file? I have the impression from these notes that you knew that you risked what you were trying to avoid."

Shawn shook his head. "I don't know. I honestly have been asking myself the same thing. It was like I wasn't in control. Like I had to do it."

"Maybe you did, Shawn," Dr. Hudson suggested. "Maybe you were being stretched beyond the capacity you were naturally capable of. It was too much. You had changed too much."

"I don't know," Shawn admitted. He sniffed, and brushed his hand down the bridge of his nose. "I became something so different from what I was before. And now that I remember both lives, its like nothing like either. I can't decide. I've changed again, and I don't like it. I can't choose."

"Then why choose, Shawn? Why not become who you are? No pretenses. No expectations. Just let you be you."

"What about them?" Shawn asked vulnerably.

"Who, Shawn?" Dr. Hudson asked with an innocence so played that under normal circumstances Shawn would have noticed in a heartbeat.

"My dad, Juliet, Gus, Lassiter, Vick…everyone! What about them? What about them?" Shawn clarified readily.

"I think, Shawn, that you need to tell them your decision, and say that you need to do this on your own. I think they would understand."

"And if they don't?"

"If you are as important to these people as they are to you, then they will."

Shawn was quiet for several long moments, his eyes trained on the luxuriously plain carpet under his feet. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, but Dr. Hudson did not interrupt. He waited silently until his conflicted patient lifted his gaze to meet his own. "I don't deserve that."

"Nobody does," Dr. Hudson assured him. "But love overcomes all that. How is your relationship with your father?"

"He basically stole my childhood," Shawn retorted bitterly.

Dr. Hudson cocked his head. "How does that make you feel?"

Shawn laughed sarcastically. "Isn't that the oldest question in the quack book?"

"You don't have to answer," Dr. Hudson said patiently.

"I don't want to," Shawn informed him.

"That's alright. Though, saying he stole your childhood seems a like it carries an intense emotion with it."

"My dad was a cop. He wanted me to be a cop. I started training before I could walk…though that might be a slight exaggeration." Shawn grinned humorlessly and shook his head at the thought.

Dr. Hudson smiled, but did not comment.

Shawn continued, "He was always hounding me about every little thing. Do you know what that does to a care-free kid?"

Again, Dr. Hudson waited for Shawn to answer his own question.

"I rebelled. As soon as I could get out, I was gone." Shawn sighed. "I'd see him occasionally, but they weren't happy moments. We were always angry…holding grudges, I guess. Hard feelings. But, I still had to go back. I still had to see him. Sometimes." Shawn looked at the doctor intensely. "Why? Why did I want to see someone I was so sure I hated?"

"I think you know the answer to that, Shawn."

"Because I loved him?" Shawn blurted out, as if the thought made him irritably uncomfortable.

"You know," Dr. Hudson said, leaning back in his chair. "You don't have to like someone to love them. You can actually have a great dislike for someone, and still love them."

"How?"

Dr. Hudson thought for a moment. "You love your father, Shawn, and he loves you. However, when two people bear entirely different personalities, they can clash quite dramatically. But that does not mean you cannot love someone who is so different than you. It only means who have to try harder to understand one another."

Shawn nodded. "When I came back to Santa Barbara six years ago, he was ticked. He wanted to know why I hadn't told him I was back." Shawn smirked and rolled his eyes. "I asked him the same thing, because, he'd left too. But it was like we'd come back at the same time and it wasn't an accident."

Dr. Hudson nodded.

Shawn continued, encouraged, "It was then that I started working for the police department as a private investigator, and I would go to my dad for advice and insight. And though at first it about killed both of us, me going to him for help, him helping me with something he didn't personally approve of…it was good. I actually started to look forward to when I'd come to his front door and he'd come out and snap, 'What do you want, Shawn?' Because I knew that he was going to help me. In his weird way he was actually saying, 'How can I help you, son?'"

"How did understanding your father that way change the relationship?" Dr. Hudson asked.

"Drastically. We became something I'd always wanted. He was there for me. That's all I ever wanted from him."

"Do you think that maybe he'd always been there for you, and you just did not see it, because it wasn't visible to your eyes?"

Shawn nodded. "Yeah. I think that we hurt each other the same way, because we couldn't understand each other."

"But you two overcame that barrier."

"Yeah, we did," Shawn agreed fondly, smiling. He looked down at his clasped hands.

"And how about this past year. How was your relationship with your father then?"

"The fact that I didn't even know who anyone was made it difficult at first. It was literally like living with a stranger…the only difference was that he knew me. Well. He knew me well. That was hard. I wanted to please him, because he was kind to me, and seemed genuinely concerned for me. I immediately respected him at the very least."

"So basically, you saw him as a stranger would see him, and you saw something you had missed because you'd always been too close."

"But I've always respected my dad, if I had to admit it," Shawn said.

Dr. Hudson nodded and then clarified. "But you respected him as a son to his father, not as a man respects another man."

Shawn shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. But he seemed hesitant to tell me who I was before the accident. Like he was afraid of something."

"Your traumatic experience, witnessing a graphic murder, the doctors were concerned for your psychological wellbeing. I assume your father was keeping that in mind."

"Maybe," Shawn acknowledged halfheartedly.

"Well," Dr. Hudson said, looking at his watch, "your hour is over. Should we pick this up again next week, Shawn?"

Shawn stiffened, as though realizing for the first time what he had been doing; however, he stared at Dr. Hudson warily for a few seconds before he noticeably relaxed. "That would be great, Doc."

* * *

_**TBC**_

_**A/N: For those of you groaning in boredom, don't worry, I believe I have some action coming up. I know this chapter was a lot of "feelings", but some people like that sort of thing. I'm one of them. And as such, here is a semi-made-up quote from our favorite Psychic to express myself:**_

_**Shawn: I'm sorry. I just **__**like**__** hurt/comfort **_**_fan fiction. I won't apologize for that. _**

**_Gus: You just did, Shawn._**

**_Shawn: Gus, don't be the hurt to my comfort!_**


End file.
